In an old cottage covered with morning glory vines by the Warbling River lived three women weavers—Alyssa was young and beautiful, Lydia was of middle age with long dark hair, and Claire was a stately white-haired lady.
All day they sat at their looms and wove. Alyssa used reds and greens and yellows as she wove the spring and summer and children’s dreams. Lydia used purples and blues as she wove the fall and wisdom. Claire wove with threads of silver and gold of the most delicate hue. On her loom I watched winter come, and I learned of love and joy.
They would sing as they wove. And I remember I could see people’s lives unfold as the threads intertwined. I think I even saw myself.
